


Tanglefoot

by hellkitty



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Gen, dark-bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dark-bingo prompt 'betrayal'.  What if Deadlock had been playing Crystal City all along?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tanglefoot

Megatron frowned down at the burden flung down to the floor in front of him, letting the expression remain as he gave a satisfied nod at Lockdown. 

Lockdown smirked back, planting his hands on his hips. “You said ‘dead or alive’. I figured I’d split the difference.”  

“I imagine he gave you trouble.”  Unsurprised. Deadlock had always been trouble. Just worth slightly more than the trouble he brought.

“Deadlock?” A laugh. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“More than Turmoil could,” the voice came from the mass of restraint cables, hoarse and hostile. He’d been a fool to trust Lockdown to anything, and part of the edge of his glare was at his own stupidity. Never trust anyone. Never.   

Megatron could see the glimmer of angry optics.  Blue optics.

Interesting.

He stepped forward, dropping to one knee, finding the head in the mass of tanglecables, tipping it back by one of the sharp projecting finials. “These don’t suit you, Deadlock,” he said, half in jest.

“Not by choice,” the smaller mech spat. He tossed his head in Megatron’s hand, as though refusing the touch.

“You don’t have the best track record of making choices, Deadlock,” Lockdown said, smartly, over his folded arms. “That whole little set up?  Amateurish.”

“Got the fraggin’ job done, didn’t it?” Deadlock writhed in his bonds, as though trying to break free and lunge at the bounty hunter. Megatron’s hand moved to the cables’ release, resting there for a moment, to feel the anticipation build, taut and coiled, in the frame underneath his hand.

“And what job was that, Deadlock? Lockdown said you were trying to renege on the plan.”  Megatron wasn’t entirely sure himself what he was going to do with Deadlock at this point.

“Because it was a stupid plan,” Deadlock said, wriggling with fury. It looked far more ludicrous than Deadlock could have imagined. He hated that, but he couldn’t just lie there under the red-yellow of Lockdown’s sneer.

“And you’re an expert.”  Megatron had seen Deadlock’s battle plans. They were hardly monuments of subtlety. Deadlock won more often through sheer force of will than anything else.  And luck. Honestly, if Megatron believed in luck, he’d believe it wrapped Deadlock in its hands.

“Don’t have to be an expert to know that Tyrest Accord violations would bring the GC down on us like fraggin’ Gideon’s Glue.”  

“Tyrest Accord.”

Deadlock sneered. That, at least, was familiar, under the strange white armor, the alien blue optics.  “He wanted to hand them over to slavers, to be stripped for parts, for knowledge.”  Megatron had enough enemies.  No need to bring more down upon them. There was a war to win, and he hated unnecessarily complications.  The Galactic Council was a complication.

A slight rise, almost imperceptible, of a supraorbital ridge. 

“Conquest,” Lockdown said, but there was a kind of uneasiness in his tone.  “They’d gotten weak.”

“They weren’t weak,” Deadlock said, with a fierceness that surprised even him. “They did more than hold their own against your allies.”

“Deadlock.”  Megatron thumbed the release, the tanglecables  retracting.  Deadlock struggled to his knees, rubbing at his limbs.  “It almost sounds as though you admire them.”

“Better allies than enemies.”  He glowered at Lockdown, full of scorn.  He didn’t admire them. But he wasn’t a fool.

“We don’t have allies,” Megatron said, flatly.  But still, his curiosity was piqued. “What good do you think they would have done us?”

Deadlock rose to his feet, the tanglecable pod thudding to the floor.  “Weapons. Ancient artifacts. Knowledge. All the things he wanted to hand over to these organics, we could have kept for ourselves.” He gave a snort. “If Lockdown had just played along….”

“Played along.”

Deadlock bridled. “I sell them out. Then I tell them that, and act all contrite.” A self-satisfied little grin. Megatron couldn’t believe Deadlock did contrite.   “And I set the whole city up to come out and fight. We win. And they’d never not trust me, ever again.” His mouth curled into a grin, a survivor’s grin. He’d always been a quick thinker, always thrown himself into risk.  This sounded…exactly like him.

“More convoluted than your usual plan.”

“Had to work around this obstacle.” A thumb jerk at Lockdown. And then  the blue optics narrowed, that cagey, crafty look Megatron remembered from early in the war.  “We can get them back, you know.”

“Really.”

A shrug of the strange, white spaulders.  “I return, with some story about breaking free from Lockdown. Ask if I can pay my respects for Wing.”

“Wing.” Something about the way Deadlock pronounced the name, a note he’d never heard in the other’s voice in all the time he’d known him.

“One of the Neutrals,” Lockdown supplied, with an acerbic helpfulness. “He died.” Lockdown’s optics fixed on Deadlock’s, who met his gaze with a stony stillness.

“I fought him,” Deadlock snarled, “every day for my freedom.”

“And you think they will let you visit his tomb.”

A predator’s grin. “I know them.” They were fools, soft in their luxury, their idea of freedom his captivity.  He could break them. 

“All right,” Megatron said. “I want a plan, requisitions, team draw, by tomorrow.”

A gruff nod, as the mech bent down, picking up the tanglecable pod and tossing it, negligently, at Lockdown.  He’d won and they both knew it. “Don’t worry. You’ll still get paid, Lockdown.”

Megatron gave a dark laugh, one that echoed from the start of the war. “It’s good to have you back, Deadlock.”


End file.
